Acting Out [Student/Teacher, GxG]

Lady Of The Hour

"We're not close, but I told you, she's nice. I was early last Wednesday and ran into her on my way in. She was carrying all of these boxes and you know how small she is, so I offered to help her bring them to her office. When we got there, she just looked completely overwhelmed so I stuck around and helped her set things up and we chatted a bit. She asked me if we were friends and I said yes, that you helped me out a lot when I first moved to Toronto and my Mum died and that we've been friends ever since. I actually told her the story of how we met." He smiled and I had to laugh.

"You told our teacher that you smashed the mirror in the unisex bathroom and I came out of one of the stalls and told you that you'd better give me a damn good reason why you ruined an opportunity for me to look at myself?"

"I did. I still remember it like it was yesterday, you know, I was losing my mind and you came marching over and did that stupid self-deprecating thing you do and it actually helped. And when I finally admitted what happened, you looked at me for a moment with your eyes all squinted up and told me that I was making progress. I asked you how, and do you remember what you said?"

"Yeah," I smiled softly. "I said, 'well, earlier you punched that mirror.' And I asked you if you were currently punching mirrors, and you said no, that you'd already smashed the only mirror in the bathroom, so I said 'see, that's progress.' And if memory is serving me right, you actually laughed."

"I actually laughed." He repeated. "So I told her that story — well, not that part, just the first part and that you bandaged my hand and waited for me to calm down and wound up making yourself late to class on your first day so I wouldn't have to walk in alone."

"I was only showing off my first aid skills." I cut in, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, okay. Do you want to know what she asked or not?" He narrowed his eyes and I sighed dramatically in response.

"Anyway," he continued, "she asked me if you were okay. She said you seemed removed or detached or something along those lines and I told her not to worry, that you're just a private person."

"Sounds like a thrilling conversation." I deadpanned.

"You'd be surprised. After I said that, she stopped making conversation and she started to look — I don't know, not upset, but like she was thinking really hard about something unpleasant."

"And?" I was becoming impatient at this point. Caleb had a way with detail in his retelling of events that often made them drag on longer than I'd prefer.

"And before I left, I asked her if something was bothering her. For a moment, it was like she was debating whether or not to reply, and then finally she said, 'people aren't born private, Caleb. You'd do well to remember that.'" At my expression, he continued. "I know. What the fuck, right? Like, where did that come from?"

"Well, what did you say to that? Did you say anything back?"

"I told her that generalizations don't often apply to you."

"Do you believe that?"

"No, in this case I don't believe that at all, but I didn't think you'd want me to give her any ammunition when she obviously has some sort of curiosity toward you."

I scrunched up my face in distaste. I was conflicted. On one hand, Caleb had just confirmed that I'd caught her attention within one day of her starting at the school, and that she'd been lying when she said she only knew my name because I slacked off in her class, but on the other hand, what she'd said to Caleb was dangerously close to inserting herself in my business, and that I had a problem with. Not that any of it mattered now, though. I'd done a pretty thorough job of torching whatever interest she may have had in us being friends outside of school.

"You were right, I — thank you, Caleb." He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a small side-hug as we walked into the classroom and in that moment I was grateful that he'd come to understand me better than most. He knew that sticking up for me like that meant more than I would acknowledge, because he knew, to an extent, how much what Miss Lane had told him would unsettle me — how important it was to me that those type of thoughts didn't even occur to people. I put on a good show, but if someone had to get a glimpse behind the curtains, at least it was someone who would have my back when it mattered.

When we'd sat down in our usual spot, I chanced a glance down at Miss Lane's desk. Our eyes met and she held my gaze for a few long moments before she returned her attention to the MacBook in front of her. She looked so unhappy my chest ached and I resented the way she could break my heart with just an expression. I didn't pity her, nor did I feel particularly responsible for her emotions anymore; this was different. I found myself wishing I could take away whatever was troubling her, and it frightened me that after everything I still felt that way.

I wondered if she'd noticed the bags under my eyes and my day-old makeup. Thankfully, from my sitting position and oversized coat, she probably wouldn't be able to tell that I was wearing a cocktail dress, but it wasn't hard to tell I hadn't been home last night. Hopefully she wouldn't look closely.

Now that her attention was elsewhere, I took in her appearance. She had her hair up in a messy ponytail, curls cascading down her back and loose strands framing her face which had escaped being haphazardly pushed behind her ears. As always she wore a knit jumper, this one a course, faded red material and at least two sizes too big for her. I wondered, if you put your arms around her waist, how much of her would be fabric and how much would be actual flesh and bone. Then I remembered — I had actually seen her without a jumper once, in a gown that accentuated every curve, and she was so small I worried she would break if someone held her too tightly. Jesus, I really couldn't get her out of my head. Especially when we were slightly early and I was sitting here with nothing to do but take advantage of my temporarily unobstructed view.

Then I realized Caleb was doing the exact same thing. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

"Caleb?" I spoke carefully.

"Yeah?" He replied, averting his eyes from the blonde in front of us. Thankfully she was out of earshot.

"Do you like her?"

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"You know what I mean." I replied, exhaling in annoyance.

"It's complicated." His voice was strained and I felt as if my heart had plummeted from my chest. Why did I care? Caleb was by far the best man I'd ever known, though admittedly I hadn't known many men, so why was I so against the idea of him being romantically involved with Miss Lane? It didn't make any sense, but I felt a pang of something I couldn't quite identify.

"How is it complicated; either you like her or you don't." I noticed that my voice was beginning to raise. "You either want to fuck her or —"

"Rowan!" Caleb hissed, and my gaze shot toward the front of the room where Miss Lane was staring at me, eyes wide with shock and confusion. This time, I looked away first.

Caleb continued to speak in a hushed voice, oblivious to the fact that our conversation had obviously caught the attention of its subject.

"I like her, okay? I've never met anyone like her. She's gorgeous, funny, and more intelligent than anyone gives her credit for. So yeah, I like her, and I want something to happen between us, but it's like every time I try to look at her in class, she's looking at —" he paused, looking to the front of the room, something that looked like realization dawning on him and I followed his gaze, once again locking on those clear blue eyes that haunted my thoughts. Her expression was unreadable, and I'd almost forgotten what Caleb had been saying when he spoke again.

"You." He finished his thought, his tone utterly defeated. "She's always looking at you."